


No Questions Asked

by reiltean



Category: Star Wars, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Caretaking, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Mando is a wet dream honestly, Mention of past violent events, Naked Female Clothed Male, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Quiet Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, The Helmet Stays On, Touch-Starved, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25383439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reiltean/pseuds/reiltean
Summary: After twenty years as a slave, you managed to kill the merchant who owned you and escape from Coruscant. You’ve been on the run for weeks with a bounty on your head, when the Mandalorian captures you alive.Due to some mechanical problems, the Razor Crest cannot travel to light speed, so you are both stranded in the parsec. He’s supposed to bring you back alive to Coruscant, but what he doesn’t know is that you’ll be tortured to death for your sins.Stuck with you for the foreseeable future, will he listen to what you have to say?
Relationships: Mando/reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 84
Kudos: 460





	1. The Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow the Mandalorian managed to find you on Cymoon 1. It's time to put your skills into action.

You never saw a Mandalorian before.

You heard the legends, of course. They were more like rumours of an unknown religion, mysterious and impenetrable. Sometimes even borderline ridiculous, especially the part about the armor.

When he entered the cantina every person, alien and creature shuddered, as if he had the power of unveiling everyone’s sins. Even if someone didn’t have nothing to hide, the silent gaze of the Mandalorian made him feel guilty.

You had your own secrets.

He could have been looking for _anyone_. You knew Mandalorians were refined bounty hunters, always covered by weapons as if they were their second skin. You knew he wasn’t here just to have his daily meal. He was hunting.

You watched him while the noise in the cantina started to increase again. People were coming back to their discussions, keeping an eye on the warrior, wary and careful with their words.

His tall silhouette was impossible to ignore: his heavy armor shone brightly in the darkness of the cantina. He moved like a snake, seemingly still and absolutely controlled. Conscious of the fact that every pair of eyes was hooked on his helmet, he kept walking as if he were alone. Not a soul dared to cross his path.

You thought you would be safe here on Cymoon 1. So far from home – almost _impossibly_ far, covered in heavy clothes, hidden in the darkest corner of the room. He didn’t even notice you. How could’ve he? Impossible.

You were cautious, though. You ate in silence your small amount of Portion Bread while he sat on the opposite side of the room, a great spot for scrutinizing the room. You saw his helmet moving slowly, almost imperceptibly while he looked upon the cantina, scanning with his sight every breathing creature.

You hid even more against the wall, the hood of your robe resting over your forehead, your scarf covering half of your face. It was too dark for him to see you there, and even if he did he still wouldn’t recognise your features.

 _Better safe than sorry_ , you thought. You didn’t like it. You didn’t like _him_. He was dangerous and this place wasn’t safe anymore.

While you quickly gobbled your bread, you walked out of the cantina, one hand on your quarterstaff, the other on your blaster under your robe. When the doors opened you were almost blinded by the light: you quickly pulled your goggles onto your eyes, protecting them from the sand.

Cymoon 1 was a slow and empty planet. The desert features of it were misleading: it was a windy and cold planet. The Maker mistook the sand for the snow. The existence of this semi-abandoned industrial planet was ignored by many. Or so you thought. 

You began to quicken your pace, heading for the room you rented off the books a few weeks back. You still had some credits, but not many. You could have gone on for a couple of weeks, maybe three, but then you should’ve find something to do. What you stole was merely enough to keep you alive, even though you were more than cautious.

Six weeks had passed since you killed them. Six weeks of hiding, keeping distance from anything and anyone, traveling in the shadows. You could have lived like this. But even the humblest meal is hard to get when you have few credits with you.

It was hard living conscious of the fact that you had a bounty on your head.

Every shadow was potentially deadly, every gaze threatening and every step dangerous. But you were used to it: you grew up in a reign of terror, beaten and enslaved for more than twenty years. You knew how to protect yourself from the hands of the villains and wicked. You didn’t have much choice.

You were moving fast on the sandy surface of the planet, not many fathoms away from your shelter.

Then you saw him – more like you _sensed_ him.

You quickly tilted your head and caught him with the corner of your eye. He was right behind you, not too far, his rifle up and pointed towards you, set to shoot.

The Mandalorian was following you, ready to kill you.

Without even thinking, you _ran_. You moved your quarterstaff on your back, making sure you were free to run as quick as you could. You grabbed your blaster and took the safety, ready to fight back. Then you rushed away with all your strength, feet sinking in the sand and sweat dripping down your temples.

It was no time for plotting. You ran relentlessly while a million questions stormed into your head, incapable of answering even the simplest of them: how did he find you?

Turning left and right without any orientation, you lost yourself in the streets of the industrial city, rushing down the narrow alleys. You could see his silver armor behind you, you heard his heavy steps getting nearer and nearer.

Your heart was beating so fast in your chest you thought you were about to faint. You couldn’t almost feel your legs, but somehow you managed to keep going.

Suddenly you turned right once again, finding a dark and empty alley so small you almost didn’t notice at first. Moments before turning you didn’t see him behind you: maybe this way you outran him.

You remained still in the shadows for a few moments, trying to hold your breath despite your painful lungs. Pulling your blaster up, you prepared yourself to fire. Few moments passed slowly. The only audible sound was the wind brushing through the sand.

Recovering from the rush, you leaned against the dark wall breathing through your mouth. A sigh came out of your throat, relieved from the danger. For a few seconds you felt fierce, almost proud of yourself.

But then you saw it coming and your heart began to pound furiously in your chest, starting afresh to pump blood into your veins.

Unexpectedly, a red laser blast came towards you from nowhere. Although you reacted instinctively, dodging the shot, it burned into your arm, gliding over your skin without crashing your bones. A sharp and bitter pain ran up to your shoulder, but you bit the bullet and quickly raised your blaster.

A shadow appeared at the end of the alley, dark and blurred. Although it was too dark to see clearly, you opened fire confusedly. The wind lifted the sand into the thick air, making it basically impossible to aim.

More shots came to you from the other side of the alley, growing closer in a matter of seconds. You bent downwards, covering your head with your arms. It was difficult to fight back with your dominant hand harmed. Somehow he could see you although you couldn’t see him: so the bastard played dirty. 

Sustaining one hand with the other, you shot again after you caught a glimpse of his silver armor. You aimed without dignity: your shots were meant to kill him. You tried to strike his neck but each of your laser shots were blocked by his breastplate or shoulder pads. You watched the shots bouncing off his body and dying in the cold sand.

He kept walking as if you didn’t even hit him. His armor was too resistant and your blaster was too weak.

In response, despite you kept moving, he shot his blaster with breathtaking accuracy: a second shot hit your arm once again, and the pain was so irrepressible you dropped your weapon, cramps crumpling your hand in unnatural positions. Breaking the silence, you left our a muffled cry.

It was at this point that you understood. He wanted you alive. But capture was not an option for you. That’s why you ran away in the first place.

Your only alternative was to get rid of him, one way or another. With blood dripping down from your clothes, you stood up and forced yourself to run again. The end of the street was just a few yards from you when a grappling hook caught your hand and made you fall onto the ground. Darkness filled your eyes for a moment when your back hit the sand, air emptying your lungs.

The world was still spinning behind your eyes when you tried to stand up again, but the sharp pain in your arm was now spreading from your shoulder to your chest, making it impossible to do so. You were still struggling on the sand, trying to move away, when he ran up to you and you saw him a few inches from you, tall and dangerous. He stood still, looking at your hidden face for a few moments. You were not able to see his face just as he was not able to see yours.

He got you. Fighting against a Mandalorian was illogical, if not self-destructive.

He blocked one of your legs stepping on it, forcing you to stay down. You had no way out.

He pulled out of his belt a pair of handcuffs, the hook still sunk in your flesh. He didn’t bother to bend down to get you. Instead, he drew his arm back, pulling the wire through his gloved hands, yanking you towards him. At this point you were sure your arm was broken in several parts. You wandered if you’d still have one by morning.

He placed one hole of the handcuffs on your hand, ignoring your blood on his gloves. He pulled you up mercilessly, making sure the cuff was tight enough around your wrist.

When he reached for your other wrist you went for your last resort.

Gathering all the strength you had left in your body, you moved your unharmed arm behind your back, grasping your quarterstaff and hitting him on his helmet with a vigor he didn’t predict.

He was left disoriented for a fraction of second, but he didn’t move one inch. You heard his breath for the first time: he sighed eagerly as if he were _annoyed_ by you.

You moved your staff again while he was still stunned by your strike, aiming for his fingers. He grunted when you hit him, but at least now your arm was free. With your wrist still cuffed, you ran backwards when he started to move towards you. You peeled away from his grip, squatting down. Taking advantage of your height, you snuggled down, groping the sand with clumsy hands, looking for your blaster.

But he was unharmed and quicker than you. He caught your staff in his hands and pulled it aside carelessly. While you were still down in the sand, he froze for a second. His still body suggested that he was making a choice. You know your life was hanging by a thread. He was considering killing you for half the bounty.

Fearing for your life you finally managed to find your blaster, but he was quicker. He kicked you in your chest, pushing you down.

He didn't realize he was too late. You already had the gun in your hand. You lifted it, crying out for this last effort, and you finally hit him on his clavicle, in the few inches free of armor between his shoulder and his chest.

He grunted again, bending down, stunned by the pain of his wound. You thought you managed to stunt him just enough to run away, but then he started rushing towards you, furiously, ignoring the laser blasts scratching his armor.

You heard his weigh on yourself, the metal plates of his armor crushing you down onto the sand. Then, his hands were tightening around your neck.

The last thing you saw was his blank helmet staring at you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note English is not my first language! ♥


	2. The Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wake up on the Razor Crest, wounded and disoriented. What's the Mandalorian going to do with you?

When you opened your eyes, it was so dark you thought you became blind. It took you a few moments to realize you were in a dark environment, so cold you felt your breath forming little clouds in front of your face. You were… outside?

No way. What the hell were you doing wandering outside at night? You would’ve better hide before someone saw you.

Your first instinct was to get up from your lying position as rapidly as possible. But when you tried to lift yourself from the ground, your body was jolted by a twinge of pain so sharp that you gasped for air, shocked by the soreness in your chest.

It only took you one split second to become conscious again.

Those in front of your face were not stars in the night sky, but blinking switches. What happened to you rushed behind your eyes in a flash: blinging lights were the least of your concerns.

You suddenly realized what your face was pushed against: the cold floor of a spaceship.

Your senses begun to wake up one at a time, allowing you to figure out what in the hell was going on. The cold was the worst part: it inhibited your touch, making it even more difficult to focus.

The spaceship was traveling at slow pace, considering the silent rumble of the engines. You were lying down, face pressed against the floor, curled up in a fetal position.

You couldn’t almost feel your right arm. Preparing for the worse, you lightly moved it towards your chest: it was like hundreds of spikes teared your flesh apart. At least you still had it attached to your body. Silver lining.

Inch after inch, you managed to sit up, trying to lean against something only to find emptiness around you. The unnatural cold made your body stiff and rigid.

That’s when you felt the ankle cuffs. You tried to move your feet, kicking your boots on the floor, but the only thing you achieved was the unpleasant noise of metal scraping on metal.

You couldn’t even _breathe_ properly. Whenever you tried to inhale, your lungs crushed against your broken ribs.

Harmed as you were, an attack was unthinkable. At least, you could protect yourself: with your left arm you tried to reach the dagger in your belt. The numb tips of your fingers were so cold you feared to break them, crushing them too hard. You lowered your hand quickly, a movement too familiar. Back on Coruscant, knives were the only weapon you managed to hide under your clothes.

But your hand grabbed nothing but cold air. He took it from you.

At this point you didn’t even know what to do, what to _think_ : you had nothing left. You could not attack nor protect yourself. You had no idea how big the spaceship was. You didn’t know where _he_ was.

So the Mandalorian dragged you to his ship. How long were you unconscious? Probably hours, judging by the cold blood on your sleeve.

You sharpened your gaze trying to locate your surroundings. Were you in a cell?

Swinging your legs and arm around, you finally crushed a foot against a wall. You tapped on hit a few times, making sure it was sturdy, and then you crawled backwards, finally winding a support for your sore back.

As much as you tried to focus, the darkness was too intense for your sight. Even from this prospective, you had no idea what was happening.

One single trembling sigh left your throat, and you immediately felt your eyes filling up with tears. The worse thing was that you couldn’t even kill yourself. Coming back was worse than dying. Fear was no longer rushing through your veins— no, now that feeling was dissolved and substituted by another familiar one: delusion.

Much to your surprise, when you were just about to shed your first tear, a voice reached you through an intercom.

«Stop moving» you heard a voice say harshly, distorted by the speakers. You tilted your head upwards, expecting to see something, but nothing changed. Was the Mandalorian speaking? Was there someone else on the ship?

You froze for a few seconds, feeling rage growing inside you.

«Where am I?» you tried to say but your chest hurt too much and the only thing that came out of your mouth was a choked whiff. You took a deep breath, risking to hurt yourself even more, and screamed your question again, your voice echoing in the dark.

No response came back from the intercom. You groaned impatiently while your heart calmed itself down.

Suddenly, a loud noise came not too far from you. A circle of light appeared on the floor from above, and you watched the Mandalorian climb down a metal ladder, his cape moving slowly, his helmet shining in the dark as if it were the only source of light.

He moved in the darkness with such confidence you thought he had infrared vision in his helmet. You could hear his heavy steps, his armor clinging lightly, but you had no clue where he was. Was he there to terminate you?

Then, there was light: a switch tilted on and you finally saw where you were, stranded in the middle of his spaceship. He took away from you even your goggles, so now your pupils were struggling to adapt to the bright room.

The spaceship was almost falling apart. Many circuit charts were shattered, wires and mechanical devices were teared up. An old carbon-freezing chamber was just a few feet away, but you quickly noticed if was turned off. The panels of the station were smashed down, as if something big was crushed into it. So that’s why you were lying on the floor and not froze in carbonite. Shame.

If this were the inside, you couldn’t even imagine the outside of the ship. The Maker only knew how you made it this far in space.

Eyes wandering on every surface around you, you didn’t even bother to look for a way out. You were cuffed, harmed and dazzled.

The first thing that struck you was the amount of blood on your clothes, bringing you _this_ close to passing out. It was way, way worse than you thought.

You almost forgot about your capturer. The Mandalorian was searching through a hidden cabinet on the side of the tank. You weren’t able to see his hands, but you took your time to analyse his body. It was almost as if he were presenting himself to you, finally showing how big he was. Your nightmare just became real.

He was much taller than you remembered, stronger too. His armor, shiny but not immaculate, made him look invincible. _Intimidating_. His helmet was tilted upwards, but not one inch of skin was free of fabric. He was completely hidden from you, inscrutable and unsearchable.

He was acting as if you weren’t bleeding on the floor of his ship.

«Who are you?» you asked, voice trembling, but your question was left unanswered. «Where are you taking me?» you tried again, raising your voice even more.

He kept busy, pretending not to hear you.

«I need…» you began to say, but the soreness in your vocal cords was too much. «I— medpacs» you managed to claim, looking at him as he ignored you. «P- _please_ » you breathed out softly.

He tilted his head towards you, facing you with his black visor, blank and impossible to read. He looked at you for a few moments, assessing the situation, body absolutely still. Then he went back to the cabinet, in complete silent.

«I’m» you breathed out, exhausted, «begging y-you».

He interrupted himself again, but he did not look at you. Instead, he bent down and took a small case from the cabinet.

As he walked towards you, panic was rushing through your body.

He placed the case next to your feet, keeping his distance. You immediately recognised the red logo, and brought it closer to you, trying to open it with one hand since your other one was wounded from his grasping hook.

It was a medpac, an aid kit: you found gauze, bandages and antiseptics, but only one stim-shot. How where you supposed to survive with _one_ stim?

«More… S-stims?» you mumbled while you got ready for mend yourself.

He didn’t answer. His stoic silence was almost as painful as your wounds. You decided to adopt his strategy: _fine_ , no talking.

You emptied the case in front of yourself, evaluating the smartest use of the medicines. The chest pain was the most dangerous: you could poke your lungs if a broken bone went into the wrong direction.

Without waiting any longer, you loaded the stim-shot, opening up your black robe and unbuttoning your shirt just enough to uncover your chest, few inches above your breasts.

Unexpectedly, he tilted his head towards you, judging your movements. Even behind his helmet, you felt his gaze on your body, scattered with dark bruises because of his brutal strength.

Looking right back at him, you pushed the needle into your bare skin without hesitation, desperately holding an aching howl. You rest your back on the cold wall, shivers running down your spine. Feeling the cold drug healing your internal wounds, you could finally breathe again, clearing your mind from the pain.

A few minutes passed silently. The Mandalorian didn’t move, nor did you. You breathed loudly under his sight. As impossible as it seemed, you wanted to make him feel guilty for what he did to you. He was doing his job, but he could’ve captured you without harming you this much, especially when he was supposed to bring you in alive. In your defense, shooting him was you only reasonable choice. Pity that he still managed to strangle you. You should’ve aimed for his neck.

Still weak but not as sore as before, you slowly sat up again, noticing that he was still looking at you.

«I don’t have other stim-shots» he explained, slowly. His modulated voice was low but loud enough for you to hear it. His tone was almost baritonal, manly and rough just like his appearance. He pondered his words carefully, as if talking was something hard to do. «I had to use one on myself. You shot me».

If your ribs weren’t crushed, you would have laughed. Oh, poor Mandalorian. So _he_ was wounded?

«You shot my arm» you said, looking at him with palpable anger, « _twice_ ». You spat your words out with such intensity your vocal cords started hurting. You wrapped your fingers softly around your neck, where he put his hands to strangle you senseless.

This _asshole_.

The smartest choice was ignoring the bounty hunter. He was still turned towards you, arms resting on the sides of his body. Despite his relaxed position, he looked just as terrifying as before. You feared his hands. You were defenseless and he was more equipped than an army.

Opening the bottles with your mouth, you ripped down your sleeve with a tearing sound, revealing your stained arm. It was a disaster, to say the least: one wound was superficial but wide, the other was deeper and still bleeding slowly.

Taking a deep breath, you squeezed the disinfectant onto your wounds, gritting your teeth so hard you soon felt blood on your tongue. The white liquid crackled in your flesh while spasms made your whole body twitch out of control.

When you cleaned the wounds, the pain was so unbearable you didn’t even notice you were crying. You weren’t even sobbing, just pouring tears and sweat.

You proceeded applying bacta on your red cuts. Luckily for you, the blaster didn’t break any bones, although your shoulder hurt terribly bad. The second wound looked particularly nasty: you needed stitches for sure, but you could have never been able to mend yourself with your left hand.

Struggling with the gauze, you froze when you heard his boots coming towards you. You didn’t find enough courage to tilt your head up.

«You’re doing it wrong» he said, looking down at you. You felt his cold presence on top of you. His voice was steady, sure of itself. So now he was lecturing you. How nice of him.

«I need proper medication,» you said, furious and enraged, throat still sore from his hands. «It would be easier if I could move my fingers. It’s freezing cold down here» you growled looking at his helmet, giving him a hateful glare.

You wondered what his face was like under there. You were not interested in his facial features. You didn’t care much. What was driving you nuts was the impossibility to see his _expression_. Was he sorry? Mad? Annoyed?

He didn’t speak, of course. You were getting used to his insolence. Instead he bent down, balancing himself on one knee. He picked up the medpac, pulling out a thin yellow syringe.

«Don’t you _dare_ » you warned him, scared to death. Fear made you stronger: using your safe arm you desperately crawled against the wall, but his hands were faster. He caught the ankle cuffs and pulled you beside him without effort.

«No, stop it— _No_!» you said once again, fighting in vain against his grip, trying to kick him away.

You were still screaming when he pushed the needle into your thigh, and in a matter of seconds you were unconscious again.

You didn’t hit your head on the ground, though. You swore you felt his hands on your hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to write shorter but more meaningful chapters so that the story results slower but more "realistic" (if that's even possible). I personally prefer building the relationship slower rather than immediately going for the smutty parts.  
> For example in the Chapter 1 you can see Mando in action, treating you like the fugitive you are: he's hunting, after all. In Chapter 2 you can detect a small progress, because he doesn't leave you bleeding on the floor of his ship.  
> God knows what will come in Chapter 3 ;)
> 
> P.S. The smuttiness will come soon, I promise!


	3. The Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Mandalorian medicates your wounds, but your first talk does not end well.

Even without looking, you knew his hand was bare.

The first thing you felt was his touch on your skin. Subtle, almost imperceptible. As it was moving gently on your wrist, bad memories came back from your mind, making you writhe.

You were brought back to that day, when it happened. Another hand was on your wrist, but it was not gentle. It was constraining, demanding. A different man was facing you, with other intents on his mind.

Your eyes flicked open to erase those memories. The Mandalorian’s helmet was inches away from your face, pending above you, shiny and gleaming more than ever.

It took you a few moments to regain consciousness. Your mind was still swaying into a dreamlike dimension, making everything blurry. The lights were fluctuating, the ceiling spinning. His helmet was the only firm point, like a center of gravity. You focused on it trying to understand what was going on, and why everything was still so hazy.

You were lying on the floor, head on the ground, but your arm was pulled up, clean and bandaged with white gauze. You felt again the warm tips of his fingers grabbing your hand more firmly, wrapping the medication around your wound.

He _was_ human, after all.

You always knew those stupid rumors about Mandalorians were fake. When you were younger, someone told you they’d never remove their helmets because they were born with deformities, or because they were bizarre alien creatures, with red skin and spiky teeth.

His hand was the most human thing you felt in the last month and a half.

«Stay still» he said sharply when your arm moved in his grip. He knew you were awake.

«W-what are you—» you mumbled beside him, but he stopped you there with his blank stare, making you forget what you were about to say.

You gasped involuntarily when he lightly squeezed your arm again, tacitly warning you.

«Still» he repeated, his helmet motionless. You wished you could see through that black screen of his. But it was inscrutable.

After reprimanding you, he went back to what he was doing. Gods, so intimidating.

He spoke so little you thought he could be mute. Did he have a mouth under there? Was that his voice, or was his helmet talking?

Still, you couldn’t get over his modulated voice. It made him scarier, transfiguring him into an inhuman warrior. At the same time, you were fascinated by it, so mysterious and vibrating.

Knelt at your side, you looked at his arms slowly taking care of you. A few hours ago, he was literally on you, potentially ready to kill you, and now he was treating you with the same delicacy you’d use with a baby.

Although you were weak and unarmed, he still had his entire armor on. There was no way you could harm him, so why in the hell was he still covered in his metal plates? Were the legends about his armor true?

You felt it again, the pressure of his fingertips on your palm, and you closed your eyes, still tipsy from the anesthetic.

He still had one glove on his left hand, with which he was sustaining you elbow, careful not to press too hard. But the other one was naked, revealing thick fingers, long and warm on your sensible skin.

You tilted your head to notice that he already medicated your blaster wounds. There was no more trace of blood, only a few spots on his palm. He washed off your blood, treated your injuries and stitched your cuts.

You admired his hand in silence: crossed by blue veins, big and manly, shaped by his hunter life.

How mesmerizing it was: the same hand that almost killed you, had now carefully stitched your wound. You felt entranced. You could not possibly understand how he went from that to… _this_.

Breathing heavily, focusing on his warmness, you noticed that it wasn’t pain that was making your arm twitch; it was his touch.

«Did you…» you began asking, tongue heavy in your mouth, throat aching for water.

«Yes» he answered sharply, his voice no more than a sigh. There was an unusual warmness in his tone. 

You watched him silently cutting the gauze and securing it with a tight knot. When he finished his work he looked down at you, trying to interpret your expression. You caught a glimpse of your own face on the reflecting surface of his helmet.

You sensed his touch again, soaking in this unfamiliar feeling before it was gone. Was the drug making you feel like this?

«Thank you,» you said softly, meaning it. He could have left you there, leaking blood everywhere on the floor of his ship. He could have killed you while you were senseless for all the trouble you already caused him. Instead he searched you – Gods, he literally had to go through all your clothes for reaching your dagger while you were unconscious – and now he was healing your wounds.

Once again, he didn’t answer. You were still tormenting yourself about his enigmatic actions when he stood up, his body as strong and tall as a tower. His legs were solid, massive even under all that coverage. Watching him from down there was thrilling.

You watched him pulling back on his glove, feeling _embarrassed_ for no reason whatsoever. For God’s sake, he wasn’t naked. It was just a glove.

The moment his skin was covered again, your heart ached. He went back to his anonymity. The only human thing about him was now gone. You didn’t blame the rumors, after all.

You listened to his steps while he disappeared behind a corner you didn’t spot before. Gathering up your strength, you pushed yourself up, resting once again onto the wall. The feeling of the cold metal on your back was spine-tingling.

You sighed thinking about your equipped backpack, packed with food and credits and clothes and, _oh_ _Gods,_ that warm _warm_ thermal blanket. Where was it? And what about your quarterstaff? You spent months building it, scrap after scrap. As thoroughly as you looked around, it was nowhere in sight.

Your feet were still trapped in the ankle cuffs. You waited for the world to stop spinning and for your heart to stop racing, then you tried to pull your knees towards your chest, curling up against the wall, trying to warm up with your own body heat.

Your robe was a mess. One sleeve was missing, the other torn. While your arm was perfectly clean, your clothes were stained with blood.

Eventually, you noticed with a thrill your top was fully laced up. But you left it unbuttoned when you used the stim-shot. Did he…?

Distracting you from your trail of thoughts, he came back holding a cup. You were still trying to understand the shirt stuff when he handed it to you. It was filled with water.

Did Mandalorians read minds, too?

You swallowed it carelessly, spilling it on your chin and chest. Guzzling it down, you felt him looking down at you.

«Thank you» you said again, massaging your throat with your safe hand.

Once again, silence was his only answer. However, unexpectedly, he nodded. It was an imperceptible movement, but you saw it. _You saw it_.

He was already heading to his ladder when you spoke up, saying the first thing that came to your mind.

«What happened to your ship?» this question was torturing you since you saw the panels of his carbon-freezing station falling apart. Not to mention the tilted circuits.

He neglected you. He was already two steps on the ladder when you took another shot.

«You can’t bring me back to Coruscant» you shouted out, loud enough to make him stop. His cape swung a few times before he jumped down the ladder. When his boots hit the ground you felt a rush of adrenaline shooting through your chest. He slowly turned around, facing you.

«Y-you just can’t» you stuttered, frightened by his strong profile.

He took a few steps forward, pushing his hand in one of his pockets. You silently gasped when you saw what he was holding. He displayed the object in his open palm, activating it in front of you. It was worse than a gun.

It was your bounty puck.

Seeing your hologram between your name and the reward for your head send you into a state of shock.

 _How_ were you so expensive? That was worth a fortune. You could almost buy a small freighter with that sum. You weren’t even that dangerous to catch.

«That’s you» said the Mandalorian, holding the puck up for a few seconds, confronting the picture with your face. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. He knew he was right.

While he stared at you, cryptic and quiet, you kept quiet, unable to accept the facts.

He put the puck back into his pocket, his helmet still facing you. There was not much to do. After all, you really were a criminal, a murderer, a thief. But before that you also were a slave. That he didn’t know.

«You have no idea what they’ve done to me. No _idea_ » you said, rage coloring your face.

Every action has a consequence. You knew what laid ahead of you when you slit open Ka’drad’s throat. But twenty thousand credits for you? A Mandalorian sent to catch you? You were not some kind of imperial mercenary.

His fists were clenched hard: was he going to knock you out or was he holding himself back?

«Do you know?» you asked, misery and grief in your voice. «Do you know what he did?».

His chest lifted a couple of times when he took in deep, sharp breathes. He hesitated for one second, taking half a step into your direction. But then he stopped abruptly, as if he met an invisible wall.

«Did you see my scars?» you asked again, sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaming down your face. « _Did you see them_?» you screamed, your voice so acute it hurt your eardrums.

«Do you know what _I_ did?» you shouted loudly, face boiling up with anger. Fury trapped your words on your throat, making it impossible to speak clearly.

Your words echoed dreadfully between the metal walls of his ship before he finally spoke.

«No questions asked» he said, his tone sharp, firm. His modulated voice was colder than the metal of his armor. «It’s the Guild’s Code».

And then he left you there, bawling in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's very difficult to describe that hot wet dream that's the Mandalorian in his armor. I'm trying my best ;_;  
> How can you describe Pedro Pascal's sublime modulated voice? Uh???


	4. The Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Baby Yoda & the shower.

A blurry sequence of brutal visions was bothering your sleep: hands grabbing your clothes, clenching your throat, but as hard you could fight back you were trapped. You saw the shadow of Ka’drad’s face, disgusting and appalling as you remembered it, then something grabbed your hair and you realized you weren’t dreaming anymore.

You twitched when you felt it again, eyes wide open, heart pounding in your ears, sweat dripping down your neck.

In the dim light of the ship you almost couldn’t discern it clearly. There was something there, something pulling lightly a strand of your hair. It was harsh in your dream, but gentle in reality.

Somehow, your first thought went to the Mandalorian, but he was nowhere in sight. Why would he be pulling your hair? And why would you think of him, anyway?

Slowly turning to your side, frightened like a little girl scared to find a monster beside her bed, you glimpsed three small fingers playing with your hair. You pulled back so quickly you hit your head on the wall behind you with a muffled grunt.

Getting used to the light, you realized what those fingers – they were more like little claws, really – were attached to.

The tiniest creature laid beside you, running his fingers through your hair, pulling it as if it wanted to wake you up. Two black, huge, disproportionate eyes were blinking at you, filled up with curiosity.

«What the—» you mumbled, confused by the features of the small creature. You had your fair share of alien creatures, but this was completely new to your eyes.

The response reached you immediately: a joyful whimper came from his small mouth, weirding you out. It was a baby’s sound, a child’s whimper.

The little thing was now raising both his tiny arms, and you eventually saw he was green, more like greenish, and that those weirdly shaped tips were a pair of furry ears.

His childish gaggle made you smile for some reason: when he saw the corners of your mouth curling up, he felt encouraged to step forward and sit beside you, while his hands still brushed your hair, playing with it as if he never saw anything like it.

«What _are_ you?» you whispered, raising one hand to meet his. When his small toes wrapped around your finger you quietly laughed through your nose. What was this thing? And why was it so darn _cute_?

He kept babbling happy sounds, with the sweetest smile in his tiny face. When you sat up, the baby tried to climb your leg, failing miserably. How could you leave him like that?

You had no choice but to give up to his cuteness, shaking your head and repressing a laugh. Carefully, you pulled the little thing up, placing him onto your lap. He greeted your gesture with the most heartwarming hug, cuddling against your chest.

You tickled his tummy over his little robe making him giggling loudly, and for one split second you felt relieved, as if you were safe.

This cheerful moment ended quickly. It happened so quickly you didn’t even had the time to process it: the Mandalorian rushed down from the circular hatch on the ceiling, without even using the ladder. Jumping straight down, you had his blaster pointed against you in a matter of seconds.

You were still startled by his sudden appearance when he spoke out so loudly it made you shake.

«Put him down» he said sharply, and you could swear he was talking gritting his teeth. «Now» he added immediately, without even letting you take a breath.

«I didn’t—» you tried to explain that you had absolutely nothing to do with all this, but he took two steps forward, towering over you. His shadow covered your whole body and you felt more conquered than ever.

«Down» he said again, while the tiny thing was looking at him with his little ears pointed down, scared as an harmless pet.

«You’re scaring him!» you said, gently pulling the baby up and placing it beside you.

You and the warrior were both shocked when the child started crying as if he hurt himself terribly bad when you put him down.

Unpredictably, the Mandalorian seemed to forget what he was up to, because he immediately knelt down to grab the baby, pulling it up on his embrace. He was so urged and worried that he forgot his blaster on the floor of the ship.

This is when you could’ve changed everything. You could’ve taken the gun, earning your way out, ending this slavery. But the idea didn’t even cross your mind.

Your first thought went to the baby: _what happened_? You convinced yourself you unwillingly did something to the poor little thing: even the thought of it terrified you, but you were as confused as the Mandalorian.

Even then the baby was placed in his arms he kept on crying, shaking the ship with his loud wails. Then he did something unpredictable: he turned his little green head towards you, stretching his arms in your direction, trying to come get closer to you, waving his small legs in the air.

When you understood what the baby wanted, your eyes flickered to the Mandalorian’s helmet. Although you tried to understand what was going on inside that thing with all your effort, his body turned into a pillar of salt, so you couldn’t even judge his movements.

The Mandalorian stood still for an incredibly long amount of time, trying to figure out what was actually happening. The poor thing was still weeping, his eyes shining with tears.

Coming to the end of his endless trail of thoughts, the Mandalorian slowly bent down to place the baby on the floor, and in a matter of seconds the little thing was already climbing up your leg. You picked it up with careful hands, shushing the baby with kind sounds.

«What is he?» you asked when the baby’s hand cupped your hair in his little claws.

He didn’t answer, but couldn’t stop staring at you either. You ached for the tiniest reaction from him, but he stood still. You cuddled the baby, scrutinized by his eyes, as if you were on trial. He didn’t show any intention to go away.

If the appearance of the baby weirded you out, the paternal instinct of the Mandalorian shook you to your core. Weren’t they all about killing? Was that his… His son? No way, you saw his skin, and it was nowhere green.

Before your mind came to some incoherent conclusions, you sit up, hugging the baby, almost giving the Mandalorian a stroke.

«Actually, I…» you began saying, embarrassment in your voice. «I need to use the lavatory».

He breathed out so loudly you heard his breath through the modulator.

«Please?» you tried again, patting the baby on his weird wrinkly head.

Finally an answer came from him, still not verbal. Kneeling at your feet, he unlocked your ankle cuffs without touching you, taking his blaster back.

Before he was up again you passed him the baby, who pulled your hair one last time before letting you go. The Mandalorian took it from your hands as if he were made of glass, and your fingers brushed against his gloves for one split moment, making you blush for some reason.

He stood up, erect and proud with the baby on his side. The creature was still looking at you but at least it stopped crying. With a sense of awe, feeling judged by his silent glare, you stood up on your unsteady feet, head spinning before you could move. He didn’t move one inch to help you.

This is when you finally realized how tall and imposing he was. In the past few hours, you only saw him running behind your back or standing upon you. But now you were both standing, and he was way larger than you, significantly taller, much _much_ scarier with all that armor around him. You wondered how you were still alive after he knocked you out on the sand.

Trying to find a spot of his skin, you were disappointed to find him fully covered in cloth and metal. You were still looking at him when he spoke, distracting you, making your legs tremble with fear.

«There» he said, pointing at one corner of the ship.

«Right. _Uh_ … Do you have…» you mumbled, intimidated by his powerful stance. «Do you have my belongings?».

«Why?» he asked right after, his helmet slightly turning to the side. The real question was: _why does he talk so little_?

«I’m covered in blood» you explained him slowly, as if he was too slow to understand. «I need to clean myself up».

He stood still for a few moments. When his helmet tilted down slightly, you felt his eyes wandering on your body, tracing your shape. He was probably checking you to see if you were unarmed, but a little voice in your head suggested something else. Without being able to see his eyes, you really couldn’t say.

«In there» he said, moving to the side. The baby was still in his arms, looking at you both with genuine interest.

You walked past him, knowing he was looking at you the whole time. It felt like he was following you; at least he was with his eyes, and you knew it.

When you entered the small bathroom you slowly closed the creaky door behind your back, releasing a breath you held for too long. You were his captive, wounded and defenseless, but still you tried to make yourself look bigger than you were. It was your survival instinct kicking in.

Alone in there, you felt like you could breathe again, alone and at ease. There were no mirrors, no towels, no toiletries, nothing of that sort. Only the very essential things. Despite you were a captive inside one the spaceship of one of the most dangerous bounty hunters in the galaxy, your first thought was: and were does he keep his toothbrush?

Shaking away those silly thoughts, inspecting the room, you stripped down slowly, careful not to mess up your bandages. Even though you were alone, it was almost as if he was still there looking at you. Done your business, you left your clothes on the sink when you entered the tiniest shower you’ve ever seen, feeling a cold breeze around your naked chest. Did he actually fit inside this thing? Did he have to lower his head to level with the shower head?

When the water started running, you begun sobbing without thinking. Letting the water through your hair and on your skin, despite the coldness, you felt your fate escaping from your hands. Your life didn’t depend on you anymore.

What was the Mandalorian going to do with you?

You needed to come up with a plan, or at least something of that sort. You needed to talk to him.

Taking your time - considering that you were washing yourself with one hand - you silently scraped your blood away. In one corner you spot one tiny bar of soap, and when you rubbed it against your chest you wondered if he smelled like that under all that armor.

Washing away the soap you felt a little bit more human. The bruises on your chest and thighs were starting to darken, but you looked away, as if this was the only way you had not to face your destiny.

When you turned off the water, you stood there naked, dripping wet, trying to understand what to do. You were getting too cold as you stepped out of the shower, heading towards your dirty clothes, sighing at the prospect of wearing them again.

You just wrung out your hair, when you heard a thud on the other side. The Mandalorian said something, but you didn’t catch his words. Your eyes wandered for one moment on your clothes, but you felt his presence waiting for your response.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door a few inches, hiding against it not to reveal yourself.

«Here» said the Mandalorian not too far from you. You didn’t see him, but his arm reached inside the room.

He had some clothes in his hand.

You grabbed them extending your arm without showing yourself, and before you could say anything you heard his steps going away from the room.

You struggled to close the door, immediately inspecting them. Those were _your_ clothes. So he actually had your things. And he went through them just to bring you clean clothes.

You stared at them for a second before putting them on. He actually brought you clothes. And a towel. And even _socks_? Okay, maybe he wasn’t so bad as he seemed. Maybe Mandalorians were not only about killing people and showing off their armor.

Still confused, you quickly wiped the water out of your hair and got dressed, bumping your elbows against the walls of the narrow room. He only brought you some pants and a shirt, which was nowhere enough considering how cold it was on the ship.

You tugged your shirt over your chest, trying to loose the fabric and hide your breast, but as hard as you tried the cold temperature made the profile of your nipples too obvious.

When you stepped out of the room you gasped so loudly you scared yourself: he was there, right in front of you, so close your nose almost touched the breast plate of his armor.

«Oh my—» you breathed out, intimidated by him. You covered your chest with your hands, cupping the not to let him see your body.

He sighed. «Sorry» he said, looking at you through the black visor of his helmet. His voice was low, raspy.

«It’s okay» you said, looking at his chest. No skin in sight, only dark fabric.

«We’re going up» he said, moving to the side. You realized he had a pair of handcuffs in his hand.

«Is that necessary?» you asked him annoyed, puffing loudly. «You know I could never hurt you, not in the state I am,» you added shortly after.

You were so close you thought you could finally see the shadow of his eyes under there, but it was just black and dark and very frustrating.

He thought about it for a while. But he was irremovable.

«It’s a precaution» he explained, slowly, testing the water.

You exited the room, leaving your things behind. When you turned to retrieve them, he was already behind you, walking fast. His hand pushed you forward, posing on your lower back for a moment.

You reached the ladder and pushed yourself up as best as you could, considering your wounds. You only looked down once, and his helmet was tilted up. You felt observed, ashamed, exposed.

When you finally reached the cockpit you sat down in one of the seats, shivering against the cold metal of the chair, looking around with curiosity.

The ship was traveling slowly into space in autopilot, but you couldn’t really see the destination on the monitor of the operating system.

The Mandalorian didn’t make you wait. He was up there in no time, handcuffs ready in his hands.

He bent down, but when he didn’t slap the handcuffs on your wrists. He put them on gently, careful not to hurt your wound. His gloves rubbed your naked skin a couple of times, making you blush. You almost felt the urge to thank him for this before realizing what a stupid idea that was.

While he was in that position, surmounting you with his stature, for one second you wondered if his eyes were peeking on your shirt. His hands were so close to your body you almost ached for his touch, for his hands, so dangerous but gentle at the same time.

But he was quickly away from you, setting down in the pilot seat. He turned his back at you, placing his hands on the wheel of the ship. He pushed a few buttons, flickered a few switches, then you had the audacity to speak up.

«I don’t know your name» you said quietly, nestling on your seat. «You know mine, but I don’t know yours».

You saw his shoulders raising up and lowering under his armor.

«Mando» he said, voice low and guttural in the modulator. «It’s Mando».

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And remember: no underwear in space!


	5. The Cockpit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Presenting: ✨ s e x u a l t e n s i o n ✨

A few hours passed quietly in the cockpit. The Mandalorian was still on his seat, moving only if strictly necessary. You saw the reflection of his helmet in the windshield, relieved that you could keep an eye on him, but also tacitly glad you could look at him and study his movements without being observed. You secretly watched him from your place, only catching the profile of his helmet and the reflection of his shoulder pad.

The cabin was silent for so long you almost fell asleep a couple of times, lulled by the motion of the spaceship. But every time you closed your eyes, ready to rest some more, harsh noises came from the turboshaft, clingy sounds from the engines, alerts from the pilot station, as if the ship was ready to explode.

«What happened to your ship?» you asked after he shut down the umpteenth alarm, moving quickly on his seat, ready to solve any upcoming problem.

«I was caught in a gunfire» he explained with his what you know considered his usual tone. It was still weird to talk to a human with a modulated voice, but the fear you felt when you first heard it was now fading away, making way for a more pleasant feeling.

Well, that explained a lot. 

«Is that why we’re not travelling at light speed?» you asked shortly after, leaning slightly forward, trying to spot where you were headed on the monitors. You were scared to annoy him with all your questions, but it was stronger than you.

«Yes» he breathed out, turning to your side for a moment.

«You know I was a propulsion engineer on the Mylo Cargo, right? The merchant ship, I mean. The biggest in Coruscant?» you said, hoping to draw his attention.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he clicked a few buttons and then turned towards you, rotating his seat, facing you with his glorious stance. Knees slightly spread and elbows on the armrests, he looked powerful, intimidating.

«I didn’t know that» he said sharply, looking straight at you.

«I can help. Concretely. Your right engine is oscillating so much I can’t believe we’re still moving. And the left one might look fine, but can you hear the noise it’s making? Can you hear that buzzing?» you said, getting excited on your seat, trying to move your hands around despite the handcuffs.

He tilted his head, touching the settings on his arm, regulating his helmet. He sighed loudly, as if he didn’t notice before the noise you were talking about until that moment. He seemed stressed, concerned about this additional issue.

«Yes, I can hear it» he said, shaking his head. «It doesn’t matter. I still have to stopover at Corellia for some parts». You were actually shocked to hear him talking for so long. Three full sentences. _That’s some progress_.

«You’re talking about the core motor controller? Because that’s the electrical failure you keep shutting down» you said raising your eyebrows, judging him.

«What do you—» he spoke for one second before being interrupted by the alarm you just mentioned. You saw his fists clench before he rotated the chair to turn off the noise once again. A deep sigh came from his helmet. You were getting used to it.

He didn’t turn to face you again. His eyes – his visor, at least – were still on the dark space that surrounded you. He was quiet, too quiet in fact. Was he mad at you?

«Let me check it» you suggested, sitting at the edge of your seat. «Just a quick diagnostic, it won’t take long» you offered again, almost begging.

«Fine» he agreed, turning to undo your handcuffs. He moved the key so slow you thought he was doubting his decision. But then he freed you, and you rubbed your wrists as he stared at you.

Sucking in a deep breath, you slowly knelt down onto the pavement, opening up the cabinet under the pilot console.

He didn’t move from his seat. But you weren’t in the position to argue with him. _Quiet literally_. You saw the shadow of his knees, and when the corner of your eyes caught a glimpse of his bulge you quickly turned your head, ashamed of your audacity. What were you even thinking?

It was hard to work in this position. Your feet kicked his boots a couple of times, and you constantly risked to hit your head on the rim of the console. But he didn’t move an inch.

You couldn’t blame him, though. You were still his captive. He didn’t know he could trust you. One thing was for sure: you weren’t doing this for him. You were doing this for you. If you helped him repair his ship, maybe he let you go. It was a fair trade; you were almost as expensive as the repairs he needed. That was an old gunship, definitely pre-imperial. He should’ve bought a new one instead of fixing this old clunker.

Stretching your arms into the wires, trying to reach the core propeller of the ship, you grunted when your arm bumped against the condenser. You finally reached the core only to see that three out of four wires that connected it to the engines were completely worn out. The ship could’ve turned off any time. It was far more urgent than you thought.

You emerged from down there so quickly you almost collided with his leg plates.

«I need…» you opened your mouth for a second but when you saw him staring at you like _that_ your jaw closed tight.

You were face to face with his crotch. There was no way around it. Knelt in front of him, you looked down before seeing anything you shouldn’t, feeling blush expanding on your cheeks. You felt _trampled_ by him.

His posture was so intimidating you forgot what you had to say. Your eyes lingered on his knees, brushing for a moment on his full bulge - _is that a...? no, it can't possibly be_ \- before flickering up to his helmet. His head was tilted downwards, settled on you. You knew he was looking at you. You knew his eyes were on you. Only, you wished you knew _where_.

Panting slightly, you looked up to him for a handful of seconds, blushed and flushed for the sudden intimacy of the view he was offering you.

Trying to focus, you opened your mouth again, but your voice was raspy, confused. Words floated in your empty mind, making it hard to concentrate on anything but him, his massive armor and strong body.

«I- I need a fuse and some copper wires, or some o-other conducting material. Graphite staples are fine, too» you stuttered, almost forgetting the tools you worked with in the past twenty years of your life.

You almost blinked out when his knees parted slightly, as if he wanted to make space for you between them. His hands gripped the edge of his armrests so hard you heard the leather of his gloves squeak.

«Fine» he said, voice low behind the modulator. He placed his hands on his thighs before he stood up, leaving you there like a pet diligently waiting for his master to be back.

In a matter of seconds he was there, handing you the materials you requested. He didn’t sit back on his seat, though. He peered your movements from the back of the cabin, further than before but still close.

This way you could at least move more easily in the cockpit, working fast on the wires, used to the heat of the metal, not frightened by the flame of the fuse.

As if you didn’t already feel exposed enough, at some point the hem of your shirt started rising up, uncovering a small, innocent inch of your lower back. It was nothing, but you felt your naked skin shiver against the cold air of the cockpit, burning under his eagle’s gaze. Trying not to think about it, you went back to your work, concentrating hard, trying not to mess things up.

When you substituted the first wire the ship begun to shake violently under you, but it only took you a second to fix the damage. You saw the Mandalorian looking down there a couple of times, clueless about what was going on, probably doubting your actions. He was scrutinizing you with curiosity… Or was it something else?

It took you a while to get to the fourth and final pivot, but as soon you turned off the fuse, the core of his engine was brand new. You heard the indicator on the console making the most pleasant beeping sound an engineer could ever hear, and you knew your job was done. _Well, that’s_ one _problem less_.

You emerged from the cabinets, closing them behind you and catching your breath. Worn out by the heat, flushed and panting, you felt like you just did something else rather than fixing a ship.

The Mandalorian – _no, right, it’s Mando_ – Mando was looking at you, and you would’ve given an arm to know what was going on behind that darned helmet.

He came closer, right in front of you, and then reached out an arm, holding out an helping hand. A bit hesitant you took it, and he helped you getting up from the floor effortlessly, as if you were light as a feather.

When you were up again, your bodies were so close you could hear his steady breath on the other side of the helmet. He was so tall you barely reached his shoulders. So prominent, so firm you could feel his strength just by looking at him.

Your hand was still in his grip, and he wasn’t letting you go. Your chest was a breath away from his armor, and you wished you could raise a hand and place it on the metal of his plates. Were they cold, or were they warmed by his body heat? And what was it like underneath all that stuff? How was his body?

You saw his chest rising up and lowering down as he breathed, until you noticed a long tear in the fabric of his clothes, mended quickly with a thick thread, right on top of his breastplate. So that’s where you hit him.

When he let your hand go, it felt inappropriate to stay so close to him, but you couldn’t move. You were controlled by his glare, bewitched by his invisible stare, attracted to him as if his body was a magnet.

He lowered his arms, but didn’t push his hands away. Instead, for a moment, only a _moment_ , he let his fingers brush against your waist, lowering them on your hips almost imperceptibly, as if he was scared to touch you. The tips of his gloves explored you naked skin, right above the border of your pants.

You closed your eyes under his soft touch, fearing the worst and savoring the moment at the same time. You knew he was capable of anything. You never felt anything like this, poised between desire and fright. It was enlightening.

A quiet voice inside your mind, or maybe down in your loins, wished his hands were bare again, like the other day, when he was medicating your wound. You already experienced both his sides: the violent, deadly one, and the caring, quiet one. Which one were you facing now?

When Mando cleared his throat, you opened your eyes, hoping to find him closer to you: but suddenly his touch was gone and his body wasn’t close to you anymore. He repented himself, taking a step backwards. He moved away from you so harshly you felt like you just woke up from a dream.

«I need to cuff you» he breathed out. Words came out of his mouth one at a time, slowly.

«Please, don’t» you answered back, begging him with your eyes. You could see how reluctant he was.

«I have to».

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally something *concrete*! I really hope you're liking this ;_;  
> The barely-legal-seated-Mando is inspired by [this bad boy](https://twitter.com/beetlebuttztwo/status/1224935597715836928) right here (you won't regret it).   
> I'd like to thank everyone that commented and left kudos on this! Thank you so much ♥


	6. The Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Mandalorian watches you sleep. And his hand slips.

You didn’t know he was watching you. How could you? You were sleeping.

The Mandalorian didn’t hear you move or talk for a while, which made him worried. He was slowly getting used to your over-excited movements, your curious voice, your unquenchable questions. His first thought was not usual, but rather unexpected; he didn’t think you were smuggling away, like any other bounty would try to do. Somehow, he suspected something bad happened to you.

But when he turned around, he just found you sleeping, sound asleep to be precise, head bowed against the seat, hands resting on your stomach.

Seeing you sleep so peacefully made him jealous: he was tired, too. He hadn’t had much sleep in the last two days, considering how busy you and the ship kept him. He needed a shower to wash away the tension of his situation and a good night’s sleep to freshen up his reflexes.

But when his gaze lingered on the gentle curve of your cheek, on the wavy hair lightly covering your shoulders, he couldn’t look away.

He _had_ to keep an eye on you, back when you were still on the lower floor. But did he _have_ to listen to you taking a shower, too? Did he _really_ have to go through all your stuff and get you clothes? Or was it something else?

He felt guilty. Like he did something wrong. When you passed out after the anaesthetic, the Mandalorian cleaned your wounds, letting his hands explore your skin, shoulder to hand, tracing with his fingers the silver marks of the violence you had to bear while you were under the Merchant’s Union.

As a bounty hunter, he couldn’t ignore the price on your head. Twenty _thousand_ credits? Only a fool would’ve ignored the call. But when he brought you back to the Razor Crest and your hood fell down, he almost couldn’t believe his eyes. If your skills surprised him - he hadn’t been hurt by a fugitive in a long time, let alone shot - your delicate appearance astounded him. It was enlightening, painful as a thunder striking him across his chest but meaningful as a prophecy.

He felt guilty because he hurt someone who had already been hurt.

And when he saw you there, on the seat of his ship, serenely sleeping, lips parted and breath steady, he knew he had done something wrong.

Watching you fix the Crest with bandages on your arm, bandages you had because of _him_ , made him feel so terribly bad, as if he dared to hurt the purest creature of the galaxy just because you crossed his path. It was wrong.

Mando could hear the little sounds you made while sleeping, the soft whimpers that came out of your lips. Gods, those were no bounty’s lips. Those were soft, red, plumped berries asking to be picked, _begging_ for it.

How long had it been since he faced a woman, allowing himself to explore her traits? Months? Years? He really couldn’t tell.

When you twitched in your sleep, changing your position, blushing lightly in your dreams, the Mandalorian heard something moving deep down inside of him, under all those layers of clothes, under all the plates of his impenetrable armor.

Something clicked in him when his eyes silently followed the profile of your thin neck, covered in bruises because of his violent rage.

He wished he could heal you back with a touch. Replace the harsh shapes of his fingers with light caresses and soft kisses.

Hovering between guilt and arousal, he allowed himself to linger on the curve of your breasts, fervent with a feeling he experienced few times before. The sight of your nipples lightly peeking behind your shirt made him shift awkwardly on the pilot seat, as his excitement started growing.

He should’ve stopped there, right there. He knew he should’ve turned around and focused on the console, eyes on the dark space around the ship.

But Mando felt an unfamiliar desire growing and growing in his loins, pressing and urgent, like a primitive call that couldn’t be ignored any longer.

If you only knew how his eyes were burning with lust behind that blank helmet. His hand moved slowly from the console to his groin, behaving carefully, palming lightly his hardening length, incapable of stopping himself. Even through the gloves and the thick fabric of his uniform, he could feel the long-awaited pleasure, relieved to indulge his needs after so long.

Right when he cupped his crotch, breathing out his pleasure, you flinched again, as if you were having a bad dream, pushing your arms together and keeling over the seat, trying to find a comfortable position despite the rigid place.

Mando felt a sudden rush of adrenaline running through his body, just as if he were chasing a bounty. He wasn’t just hard for you. He was because you didn’t know how nasty he was being while you slept like an innocent baby. Cuffed, captured and unconscious, you were at his mercy.

Mando waited and waited, scared to wake you up, but the sight of your breasts, now squeezed together as if someone was grabbing them almost sent him over the edge. He couldn’t resist any longer.

Still silent, vigilant as a hunter spying on his prey, he opened up the front of his pants to finally glide his gloved thumb on tip of his aching cock. It was hard to hold in a deep moan, but the last thing he wanted was to wake you up. Instead, Mando closed his eyes tight and dropped his head back, focusing on the sensation of deep pleasure running through his spine. He hadn’t done this in so long he almost forgot what it was like.

He teased himself slowly and intensely while he thought about your wet body in his shower, your soft skin now covered in his scent. He didn’t have the courage to look at you then; it would’ve sent him off instantly.

As he was fully hard, his gloved hand gripped on his shaft and started pumping it fast, incapable to keep his promise. Gazing at your breasts, full and soft, he tried to imagine how it would’ve felt to grab them tight in his bare hands, feeling your nipples hardening between his fingers.

He sighed softly behind his helmet, leaking thick precum on his gloves, sensing a tightening feeling in his chest, slightly moving his hips as his orgasm came closer. Throbbing and quivering, his cock was so hard it hurt, aching to climax.

Eyes fixed on your red lips, gritting his teeth to hold even the tiniest noise, Mando was picturing the red swollen tip of his cock slipping on your tongue, just a step away from his orgasm when unexpectedly an alarm went off, making him jolt on his seat, immediately turning around to hide from you.

He moved as quickly as he could but you jumped on your seat right when you heard the sound, still half-conscious, eyes blurry and heart pumping in your chest with fear.

He turned the alert off immediately, regaining control on himself, ashamed of his behavior and angry for his irrational instinct.

But as he pushed back his cock in his pants, the sensible tip of it was still pulsating, because no matter what his mind was telling him, the image of your body was right there in front of his eyes.

«Mando?» you said, squeezing your eyes, getting used to the lights, trying to focus his back. You weren’t quite sure what happened: one moment you were dreaming of running in the underground of Coruscant, the other you were scared to death by a beeping sound.

It was the first time you called him by his name. He most definitely wasn’t expecting it: hearing your voice, still low and messy from sleep, sent a jolt of pleasure through his spine, making him jolt on his seat. You called him because you were scared, as if you momentarily forgot he was your owner and you were his captive.

«What was that?» you asked, referring to the sound. He was confused for a moment, before he realized what you were talking about.

«Thermo—» he begun saying, but quickly cleared his throat as soon as he realized his voice was so low and raspy it was nearly incomprehensible. «Thermoregulator», he explained, as brief and concise as always.

You had no idea what he was trying to hide from you, desperately thinking about something else besides your curves, your lips, your voice. Mando lowered his eyes only to find his glove glimmering with his humor, sticky and wet. Thank Gods the fabric of his pants was dark: he could feel his rock solid cock wetting the fabric with precum. He could’ve trust his hips a couple times against his pants to create just enough friction to cum. But he didn’t have the guts to act so beastly. He couldn't be seen like this.

«I can check, if you want» you suggested, raising your hands to rub your sleepy eyes before you remembered you were you restrained. Your sigh made the Mandalorian flinch in his seat while as he kept painfully ignoring his needs.

«It’s not necessary» he answered back, clumsily cleaning his hand on his pants, swallowing the bitter pill. «We’re almost at Corellia».


	7. The Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're finally on Corellia, but you make an unexpected encounter, risking your life once again.  
> (TW!!! explicit description of a fight, violence, etc.)

You’ve been to Corellia several times: working on a merchant ship that was one of the only places that offered a wide range of mechanical replacements. Unfortunately, after the fall of the Empire, it lost its original importance: being unable to trade with rich magnates, the industrial aspect of the city was gravely damaged.

The Razor Crest was flying over the atmosphere of the planet when Mando turned around on his seat, breathing slowly.

«I can’t leave you alone on the ship» he let out with a sigh, as if it took him a lot of effort to talk. As if he was annoyed. It wasn’t a question.

Of course he couldn’t. He didn’t trust you. Even though you already fixed his ship. More than once. Even though his greenish and wrinkly child loved you– your _hair_ , actually. But no, he didn’t trust you. You started thinking Mandalorians’ hearts were as cold as the metal of their helmets.

«If you leave me here, I’ll contribute to the repairs with the other mechanics» you suggested, annoyed that the only thing you could see was that stupid blank and black visor. 

No reaction came from him.

«You know I can help» you said again.

«My plan was to trade you for my repairs» he said loud and clear, with a grave note in his tone.

Blood froze in your veins. He said that _was_ his plan. Before you could answer, he spoke up.

«You’ll come with me» he declared in a forceful tone that brooked no argument. «But you’ll have to hide. I’m not the only one after you» he explained, getting up from his seat.

He stretched his neck around, trying to release the tension of so many hours of flight. When he tilted his head backwards you seemed to catch a glimpse of skin, but the cockpit was too dark to see clearly. You shouldn’t even look at him anyway.

It was your last chance to gain your freedom. You would’ve done anything not to go back to Coruscant.

«You know I’m good at this. I can help fixing your ship, and then we’ll be even. You know the damage is too expensive. I’ll do it for free. Then we’ll go our separate ways» you explained, getting up from the seat as you spoke.

He got up after you, towering above you.

He tilted his head downwards just to look at you with a silent glance. You tried to stand on your tiptoes to make yourself look bigger and stronger, but he was still so tall and big you looked ridiculous in front of him. He was probably laughing at your audacity behind that thing.

«No, you’ll come» he simply said, voice low as always, before kneeling down to the ladder, effortlessly reaching the lower floor. Gods, he didn’t even use it. He just jumped down there.

He looked up, waiting for you. As if you weren’t already ashamed of your childish efforts, you struggled a lot to come down the ladder. Of course it was so easy for him. As tall as that thing, with two strong arms and free hands. _Try with a pair of handcuffs_.

You reached the lower floor under the vigilant sight of the Mandalorian. You almost missed the last peg and he quickly raised his hands, ready to pick you up, as if you were a clumsy child. You refused to humiliate yourself that much, and you grabbed onto the pegs with all your strength, not giving him the satisfaction to do that. He didn’t deserve it.

As you were in the middle of the ship, almost freezing to death, he came out of nowhere with your backpack, but didn’t hand it to you.

Instead, he froze of a moment, looking at you just standing there. Your handcuffs lightly clinked in the silent cabin. He caught the little noise, of course. He came closer and removed your handcuffs with a movement so quick you wondered why it took him that long the other times. His gloves didn’t brush against your skin this time. They didn’t come anywhere near you.

«I’m uncuffing you because I don’t want to draw any attention on you» he explained, as if it were necessary. His voice sounded more mechanical than the other times. «One misstep and I’ll bring you in cold».

As those words came out of his helmet you felt a tingle in your spine. It was fear coming out of its nook, ready to gain control over you as it did many times before. Your heart was pumping blood in your veins so fast he probably could hear it. The shiver that came across you wasn’t from the cold anymore. It came from his voice.

He stared at you while you massaged your wrists and rubbed your arms, desperately trying not to show any emotion. You couldn’t seem weak. Not in front of him.

He took a step back and handed you your backpack, more like threw it at you.

«Dress up» he said, his eyes on you, watching your movements closely. He didn’t trust you one bit. Naturally.

You opened your backpack to reach for some heavier clothes. Each and every single one of your movements was scrutinized by his eyes. What he didn’t know was that he didn’t search your things as accurately as he thought: reaching down into a secret compartment you carefully sew many months before, you felt the cold metal of your throwing knife against the tip of your fingers. It was small and old manufactured, but it did the job. And most importantly, it was still there.

You pretended to look up for clothes. Pulled out a heavier shirt, a jacket and a scarf to hide your head. Corellia was known for its grey skies and low temperature. You’d die fighting, but not freezing.

«Can you turn around?» you asked, shirt in your hands, desperately trying to sound annoyed and bossy. You actually felt smaller than ever.

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t move, either. Not one inch, as a matter of fact.

«Please?» you asked again, waiting to change your shirt. He pretended he didn’t hear you. He just stood there, laying against the wall of the ship, with his arms crossed on his chest. _Impatient._

You were wasting his time.

« _Fine_ » you said, taking a deep breath. You begun pulling your shirt up in an act of defiance, unveiling your body.

As your stomach was totally naked he finally turned around, giving you the privacy you asked for. You wondered why he waited for so long. Did he see something else? _Why would it matter, anyway_?

He didn’t know you were not only changing your shirt. With a movement so quick he couldn’t possibly notice it, you pulled out of your backpack the little knife, hiding it in your pants. A mixture between fear and adrenaline was rushing through your hands, making you tremble.

He probably heard something because his head tilted back for a split second, but when he noticed you were still naked he quickly turned it around again, clearing his throat.

You quickly got dressed and pulled the scarf up as a hood. He didn’t suspect a thing, which made you calmer for some reason.

You didn’t know what you were going to do with that knife. But you felt safer.

You walked past him to the tiny bathroom to recollect your boots. As you put them on he looked at you, judging your appearance. He probably thought it was just fine, considering he didn’t say anything.

Then you waited for him. You sat on a metal box in the corner and looked at him loading his weapons. You wished you were able to think about your lack of weapons and your stolen quarterstaff, but instead you were infatuated by his movements. He was bustling with pistols, guns and that damn rifle that almost put you down. You carefully observed him: his strong arms pulling up the munitions, his massive legs packed with every kind of weapon. _Gods, is that a jetpack?_ You slowly started to understand why Mandalorians were so feared and respected.

He took too many munitions. What were you going to do in Corellia?

As he opened yet another hidden cabinet the baby appeared in nest of blankets. He was sleeping, the little thing. You wished you could cuddle it again, so cute and tiny. But it was no time for sweet nothings. Mando picked him up and placed him inside an oval cradle, quickly shutting it close with the controls on his arm. Ingenious.

«Stay here» he warned you, running up the ladder to begin the landing procedure.

You did as you were told.

\- - -

You landed in Coronet City shortly after in a single-ship hangar.

As you came out of the ship the mechanic – an old yet strong man – came to examine the damage. It was so weird to face someone with two eyes and one mouth rather than a silver helmet.

He was diffident at first, considering the status of the ship. He didn’t want to risk anything by repairing the ship of a bounty hunter.

Mando was incontrovertible. He wanted the ship ready in a few days without droids to help. You looked at him as if he were crazy. The mechanic was as outraged as you were.

You tried to step in, but Mando didn’t allow you. He pushed you back with his arm before you could say anything. As you felt his hand on your stomach you quickly realized how rough and strong he was. You couldn’t believe how harsh he’d be with you and how kind and soft with the child.

After Mando was done, he turned his back at the mechanic, quickly walking out of the hangar, borderline contemptuous. You gave an apologetic look to the poor man before turning around, trying to reach Mando with your short legs. He was moving fast with the metal globe of his baby flying right beside him.

When you stepped out of the hangar the dark sky of Corellia was upon you. The street much more crowded and less colourful than you remembered. People and creatures of all kinds were walking fast beside you: nobody wanted anything to do with anybody. Ships were ready to depart, cargo were being loaded.

The Mandalorian seemed to know where he was going. On the contrary, you felt hazy between so many people. The past few days were so confused you felt like you were in another universe.

As you begun walking slower, clashing agains aliens and corellians, Mando had to come get you. He pushed a hand on you back, rudely making you walk before him. He probably thought you were trying to escape, whereas you just felt human again, walking on the ground and facing other living creatures.

As the streets got emptier and narrower, he started walking closer to you than you imagined. He was right behind you. You felt the thuds of his boots and the clang of his armor in your ears.

«Here» he suddenly said, pulling you aside with his hand. There was nothing gentle in his touch.

You were standing in front of a sliding door, probably waiting to be checked. The nook you were standing in was so narrow you saw your reflection in his beskar. His helmet looked massive from your point of view, heavy and dangerous.

The door finally slid open and you were pushed into the bar, which was unexpectedly full.

You barely heard his voice among the muttering of everyone that was eating and drinking there.

«Follow me and don’t look around» he ordered you, turning his back at once. You could’ve turn around and got out of there. You’d have probably made it. The city was like a maze. But instead you did as you were told, hypnotized by his shoulders.

He walked to the back of the bar, reaching the darkest corner of the place. He was wrong thinking you’d draw attention to yourself. Because everyone was turning their head as he passed. The shiny metal of his body was so striking it was impossible not to look at it. You were basically invisible compared to him.

You sat quietly in front of him, making sure your face was still hidden by your scarf. He looked deadly calm. He wasn’t bothered, nor anxious. At least, he didn’t show it.

«Your armor is very… eye-catching» you said quietly, eyes low, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

«My armor is part of my religion» he said, moving his helmet. He was looking at you.

«I know very little of your beliefs» you admitted, uncapable to find enough courage to confront his blank stare.

He seemed about to speak, but didn’t. Instead, a droid brought to your table two cups full of something that looked like soup. And that’s when you realised you hadn’t eat for days.

«Oh my _Gods_ » you said, grasping the plate and drinking the boiling liquid at once. It tasted disgracefully, but it was still something to fill your stomach with.

You were so hungry you almost didn’t notice Mando shifting uncomfortably on his seat.

«Aren’t you eating?» you asked, wiping the edge of your mouth.

«No» he answered harshly. «Not here. Not now» he added briefly. Instead, he opened the baby’s cradle and handed him the cup, and you almost choked when the little thing begun drinking from it. It was the cutest fucking thing you ever saw.

«You really never take that off» you said.

«No» he said immediately. «This is the Way» he immediately added, as if it was some kind of prayer. You wondered if he was even allowed to talk about it.

«Have you taken it off since you captured me?» you said out loud, almost unintentionally. It wasn’t really a question for him, anyway. It didn’t even matter, right?

«Yes» he simply said. And suddenly your heart was pounding in your chest. _He did_.

 _What?_ «When?» you asked, adrenaline and curiosity in your voice. Your eyes were still glued to the table. Maybe with the tools he had under there he could sense your excitement.

«When you passed out».

You blushed violently in front of him. Not because you actually did pass out. But because in that instant all you could think of was him, maskless and human right above you, putting bandages around your arm, touching you without his gloves. You apparently had no reason to, but you took a couple of deep breathes, trying to control yourself. You really had no reason to feel how you felt. At all.

«We need to hurry if we want to be at the hostel before the suns set» Mando said as soon as you were done with your soup.

«A hostel?» you busted out, widening your eyes.

«We can’t sleep around. It isn’t safe. And we need to sleep. At least, I do» he said, fatigue in his tone, tiredness in his posture. Poor Mandalorian. Poor Mando.

«Fine, we need to get going, then» you said getting up. Mando left some credits on the table, and before you knew you were already out.

He was right. The sky was much darker than before, and there was no one in the street. It was cold, too much for your clothes. The wind tried desperately to uncover your face from your scarf. You were scared despite being with him.

The metal cradle was once again sealed shut. Mando was walking fast on the concrete, and each of his steps was marked by a loud sound.

You already walked for ten minutes when it happened, and it was so fast and you were so tired you didn’t even realise what was going on.

Mando turned the corner and disappeared from your sight. As soon as you saw the empty street in front of your eyes you knew something was wrong, so so wrong.

As you stopped walking, blasters begun shooting. You crawled against the wall beside you to hide from the fire, hissing at Mando for not giving you a weapon, not even a blaster. You were disarmed, vulnerable.

The blaster shots were so close it was a matter of seconds before they hit you. And then you saw Mando: knelt down, gun in his hand, hiding himself and the child. _Gods, the child_.

You took a deep breath, intentioned to run to him, but as you stepped out someone grabbed you from behind: he was probably there since the beginning, waiting for you, for your stupid distraction.

They weren’t only following us, they were waiting for us. _But how?_

Someone caught you by your arms as you were running, trapping you agains them. _Stupid, stupid me_. It was when your back hit the front panel of his armor that you realised that wasn’t just someone. You’d recognise that hard white shells everywhere. It was imperial.

You still were standing against your capturer when you heard the boiling hot barrel of a gun pointed against your throat.

You screamed your lungs out, kicking back and punching the air, but the hold of the soldier was too strong. When he heard you, Mando turned his head and pointed his blaster in your direction, but a rush of lasers were shot in his directions. White specks of light ricochet off his shoulder pads, and you heard him grunt. How many where they?

You saw a couple of white helmets on the other side of the road: two, no there look, three troopers were shooting at Mando, and a fourth one was holding you back. So they actually didn’t want you. They wanted him. Him, or…

The most frightening sounds came from the cradle when it was shot multiple times. You were scared, but angry too. They knew what was in there, and they were going after it.

Using a strength you weren’t aware of, you pushed your entire force in your elbow, striking the head of the trooper so hard you thought you broke your arm, _again_.

You heard his blaster falling on the ground. He was dizzy after the hit, but not knocked out. You immediately turned around, kicking his stomach with your foot, desperately trying to send him down. He staggered, trying to go for his blaster, but you were quicker. You squatted down at once and shot him in the shoulder, just like Mando did to you.

When you turned around, a blaster shot came so near you that you felt a chunk of your hair fall off and an awful smell of burnt skin right under your nose. You were so scared you thought you’d lost an ear.

You pointed your blaster blindly before yourself, not being able to locate the troopers anymore. They were hidden in the nooks of the doors facing the road. Mando was hiding just behind a corner, and you could barely see the top of his helmet.

When one of the trooper came out of his place to aim and shoot, you were quicker. In your defence, you had an endless amount of time to practice. You shot just a couple of times, but you knew you got his arm when he grunted loudly.

«Stay back!» Mando screamed at you, with a tone so overpowering you almost listened to him. Almost.

Checking your visual, you carefully moved fast forward to the next nook, dodging the blasters by a hair.

You held the trooper’s weapon in your sweaty hands, feeling scared and thrilled at the same time.

Another trooper took his shot, but Mando got him in his chest. His body laid on the ground sensless, the first victim of this firefight.

But you certainly weren’t done. You ran to Mando as quick as you could, the laser shots hitting the concrete as you moved sidewards, and you basically jumped round the corner, clashing against Mando’s side.

You noticed two other troopers were laying next to him, dead.

«What is happening!?» you screamed without bothering to control yourself.

Mando stood up and begun running against fire. You gasped with a twinge in your heart, thinking he was running against his fate.

Despite all the shots that were fired at him, he made it to the first nook thanks to his armor. One trooper was brave enough to face him, but Mando quickly got him, putting him down in a matter of seconds, or rather punches.

He was still running when you heard it: a loud grunt came from his helmet, arresting his steps, making his knees fall to the ground. They got him. One of the troopers hit him to smear on the side of his torso, right where the chest plate ends.

You didn’t even think. In a rush of grey walls and red shots you ran for your life, surpassing Mando and shooting the trooper that hit him in the head, ferociously screaming. You stopped there, thinking it was the last soldier, but made a mistake.

Something hit your hand and you lost your blaster in a hustle, terrified by the unattended shot. Breathless you turned around, facing one last stormtrooper. You had no weapon. You had nothing, and you just stood there, muzzle between your eyes. The gun pushed you, burning your skin. You walked backwards, trying to resist his push. The trooper got your arm and turned you around. You had the gun against your neck, and you were facing Mando, up again but slightly curved on one side, blood everywhere on his armor, drops of it on the ground.

For the first time since you met him, Mando seemed human.

«The child» the trooper said. It wasn’t a request; it was an order.

«Let her go» Mando said, buying time. He was slowly going for his rifle.

«Don’t you even try» the stormtrooper shouted, pushing the barrel even more into your neck, to a point you could hear it buzzing in your body. You just stood there, chin up, gazing at Mando. He looked desperate, wounded and left with no options. Of course he couldn’t leave the child. He only had one choice.

You closed your eyes, trying to get away from the arms of the stormtrooper, but the blaster was just about to go off. You were strong, but he was stronger.

Refusing to die in such a dishonorable way, you moved once again in the arms of the trooper, spasming relentlessly, using the last drops of your strength, when you felt a sharp pain on your lower back.

Suddenly, you realised. Your knife.

«Let her go and I’ll bring to you the child» Mando said, walking forward, hands in the air. He was almost limping and not even his electronic voice could hide his pain.

«Bring me the child, and I won’t kill you» the trooper said again, tightening his hold on yourself.

Mando took another step forward, and the trooper pulled the blaster away from you for just a second, protecting himself from the Mandalorian. That was your window of opportunity.

Before he could even process it, you twisted your arm behind your back and pulled the knife out of your belt so fast you cut yourself. But it didn’t matter: you pushed it into the hip of the soldier, so hard you felt his bone scatter against the metal point of your weapon.

The trooper didn’t even have the time to scream. Mando shot him before he could even fill his lungs with air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo guess who's gonna need some medication in the next chapter 👀  
> Also I'd like to thank everyone that kept reading my fic despite it's been ages since I uploaded. ILY SO MUCH!!! THANK YOU!!! ♥


	8. The Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your roles switched. It's your time to mend him. Doesn't go as planned.  
> (TW: blood at the beginning, since you're medicating his wound-- nothing bad I promise)

«How much further?» you asked him again, struggling to walk.

«Not much» he sharply hissed at you through his teeth. The modulator made his voice sound even more severe.

Mando couldn’t even walk himself. The wound probably looked worse than it was since he kept on insisting it was nothing, but he couldn’t even stand straight. His arm was around your neck, but you didn’t do much, to be honest. His arm only was so heavy it felt you were carrying his whole body. Even in these conditions he didn’t show his evident weakness, he refused to accept your help.

«Second door on— left» he stuttered, breathing in sharply as he was struck by another sharp pain. You looked back and luckily the baby was still in his levitating orb, but a thin trail of blood followed you on the ground.

_That’s bad. Like, bad bad. Too much blood. Oh Gods._

After a few steps, you made it to the inn, or what desperately tried to remotely resemble something like that. The woman at the entrance gave you a nasty look but didn’t ask any question. She simply handed you a chip. She was probably used to this kind of staff. She glanced at the Mandalorian a couple of times, since she probably didn’t get to se many of those there.

Mando was trying to hide in the shadows, as he always did, as if his armor wasn’t the brightest thing in the room. Like a giant hiding behind a little rock.

He stopped against the wall, panting, grunting and breathing so heavily it worried you.

You asked the purple lady for a medpac, demanding it, urgency in your tone. You weren’t fooling around. You didn’t have to use the submissive servant tone you were forced to adopt at home. She smirked at you, like it was all a joke, but you extended your arm pretentiously, looking at her with hostile eyes.

She wasn’t curious, she just didn’t want any trouble.

«I’ll pay double for your silence» you added quickly as she turned around to get what you asked for.

«That’s what I was hoping for, hun» she teased, giving you a funny look. She pitied you.

You quickly ran to Mando, trying to give him the support he needed without really making a difference. Your nook was on the second floor, and taking the stairs was terrible for him. He kept hussing under his helmet, but didn’t say a word, no sir, not once. He just sighed holding his wound with his hands, and step after step you finally made it to the dark corridor.

It was the least welcoming place on the planet, but at least it was safe. The orb hit the walls a couple of times, but the last time you checked the baby was sleeping, thank Gods.

Mando refused you help, being more aggressive than usual— not that he was the friendliest man alive. It was like the real pain was allowing his wound to manifest that he was human, after all.

You opened the door for him and he nearly collapsed on the floor. You realised the side of your own body was covered in blood, but it took you a second to process that it wasn’t yours. You now realised that both of you had been covered in each other’s blood. It was… sacral. Like a religious ritual. Like a vow between you.

You stared at your hand, warm of his blood: even though you too were hurt, pain in your own chest, in your back, in you neck for Gods’ sake, it all disappeared when you saw him limping to the bed, or what looked like it, a wide cot with the thinnest blanket on it.

Just like that, you didn’t feel your wounds ache anymore, while a tightening grasp was oppressing your chest. The same grip that nearly made you collapse when he just laid there still for a bunch of endless seconds, without moving, without breathing.

It horrified you. A rush of adrenaline and distillate fear sprinted in your veins as you stormed to the side of the bed.

«M- _Mando—_ » you whispered under your breath, kneeling down beside him.

«Leave me» he murmured, chest moving slowly. It was like a slap across your face.

He didn’t even look at you. His helmet was pointing upwards, his hands still on the wound that you were now facing from the side of the bed. The tips of his gloves, once orange, were now completely soaked in red. What was he going to do? How could he medicate himself there?

«Stop that» you objected, trying to send your tears back, tinkering the medpac between your hands. You refused to listen to him. He wasn’t being himself, he wasn’t completely sane— He lost a ton of blood, that’s why—

«Leave» he snapped, his voice louder and angrier.

«Shut it!» you insisted, proving a determination you had no idea was in you. «We need to medicate the wound... You’ll need a stim shot— even stitches…» you begun saying, but the moment you tried to move his chest pad aside he caught your hand between his, smearing your wrist with his blood. Even when he was wounded, his reflexes were extremely quick, always on edge, always ready. His helmet stared into your soul, as if he were pondering whether to kill you or not.

«Leave me!» you yelled at him, freeing yourself from his grasp, pulling away from him. You couldn’t see his face, but yours was definitely furious. «I’m trying to _help_ you— You can’t even stand straight, how are you supposed to clean your wound?» words came out of your mouth like a stream of rage, outrageous rage.

Your face was boiling, so out of control you didn’t even know if you were crying at that point. It really didn’t matter. You felt like you could’ve had a bullet hole through your fucking _head_ , and you’d still insist to fix him.

He didn’t allow you to fix his ship. So you’d fix him.

Few moments passed quietly. He didn’t say a word, but at least he finally let go of your arm. You took it as a yes.

He struggled to lift his arm, stretching it out the bed, right beside you. Like he was trying to put it around you— as if. He was just giving you access to the wound. Never mind.

Gathering all the courage you could possibly find in your body, you took a deep breath before leaning forward, well aware of his massive body under your arms.

You tried to move his breastplate aside, but it was so well placed it was basically stuck on him. You ran your fingers on the borders of it, grazing your fingers on his chest, sensing shivers from his body. They were pinned on his shoulders so you struggled— _really_ struggled to pin it off.

Your fingers fumbled on his collar bone, still hidden by his clothes. Your hands were right under his helmet, bringing you closer and closer to him.

It was in that exact instant that you realised how dehumanising his helmet felt right in front of your eyes. It was big and blank, whereas you felt your cheeks on fire, blushing blatantly, and noisy breathes were coming out of your mouth as you pulled his armor off.

When you finally made it, you grunted to set the plate aside, so heavy it was probably hurting him.

You were now facing his clothed chest, broad and sweaty and stained and Gods so _big_ , violently shook by his deep breathes. So he was really human under that beskar. He had a body, a _real_ body, after all.

It was nearly impossible to take your eyes off his vigorous chest, so fascinating and yet terrifying. You didn’t forget his strength when he was on you.

That memory quickly got out of your head when you remembered what you were doing.

The bloodstain was much bigger than the wound actually was. The bullet grazed him, but the spot made it impossible to see the actual injury. And his clothes kept getting in the way.

You placed your fingers on the waistline of his pants, slowly pulling the thick material of his suit out of them, careful not to hurt him.

As your fingers lightly brushed against his naked skin, the Mandalorian breathed in, gasping ever so slightly, and you could feel his body tensing under your touch. Your hands felt dizzy from that contact, and you felt guilty like a disobedient child. It was _electric_ , like your senses short-circuited, unable to process what was happening. 

You pulled the fabric up, dangerously revealing the lower part of his chest which, much to your surprised, was of a tanned color, almost sunkissed you dared say. _But Mandalorians never took their armor off, right?_

Not even the blood could hide his abdomen: it was like his body was made of muscles, hard and tensed, there, just inches away from you. You were almost mesmerised by the sharp lines of his torso when you realised the wound was still bleeding.

You weren’t scared of him, but you were scared for him. What if he passed out, what would you do? And the child, what would happen to him?

Using the tools of the med pack you first had to clean him, trying to breathe regularly and keep calm. You weren’t careful because you were scared of hurting him; you feared the direct contact with his skin. _Your skin on his_. It made you feel things you couldn’t even comprehend.

It was not time for emotions— It was the time of logic, control, discipline.

Your hands were precise and steady as you moved the bacta soaked gauze on his chest, but your breathes were shaky, your heart pounding one hundred and more times a minute.

As you cleaned his torso, revealing his skin inch after inch, you tried not to get distracted by the manly look of his, by the insane silhouette of his abs contracting under your fingers, by the– the fucking stripe of hair that ended up in his pants, where you could only guess what that was like.

While you were desperately trying not to get – too – distracted Mando was still well awake, more and more nervous as you got closer to his wound.

«Hold still» you warned him, placing your full palm on his belly, which immediately tightened under your touch. You could feel the steel of his muscles contracting. You could feel his heart beating.

Your hand was there, unmoved and steady, but inside you everything was in turmoil, unsettled and dizzy. You felt him under your touch, and it was the most human he ever looked.

After taking a deep breath, you gently pressed the gauze on his wound but his hand immediately flied towards your face, grabbing you by your neck.

You panicked, unable to move.

His movement was so sudden it scared you. You did alert him, but it didn’t work. It was like his body was automatically driven to defend itself from anything and anyone. It was muscle memory, you well knew that: any form of touch was a danger to him.

His grasp was still so solid you couldn’t even breath. He looked at you for the longest moments, and when a small tear fell off your eye for the harsh pain he released you with a grunt, breathing so heavily it took you much effort not to look at his deranged chest.

When you caught your breath again you really couldn’t wait any longer, since he was losing blood so profusely it could be a haemorrhage. So you tried again, despite the very high risk of being literally strangled. It was a risk worth taking. When you wiped the medication on the wound, he cursed for the first time, back aching and fists clenched.

Placing your hand on his stomach, you moved the gauze again, finally revealing the injury, a deep and long cut right on the side of his waist.

«You need a stim shot» you declared, voice trembling and uncertainty in your throat, fearing his reaction.

«No» he blurted out. «First— stitches» he panted, helmet up towards the ceiling, teeth gritted.

«That’s going to hurt» you warned him, knowing what you were talking about. You lost count of how many times you had to do that to yourself or to the other girls that were punished back on your home planet.

He didn’t answer.

As you threaded the needle you could feel the tension in the air: it was the premonition of a pain so unbearable you felt sick for him.

«Grab onto something» you warned him, fixing your position. You put your elbow on his chest, setting your position, his boiling hot skin against yours, aiming at the wound between your fingers.

«I’m sorry» you breathed as you pushed the tip of the needle in his flesh.  
  


\- - -

  
He didn’t say a word. He grunted and groaned, squirming and moving around, he but he didn’t say anything. His pain tolerance was so high you once again begun wondering if he really was human. Yes, he was in pain, but he did everything he could not to show it. Was that part of his religion, too?

Mending his wound was almost impossible, since you couldn’t really keep him immobile. At some point your hand pushed his chest down so harshly you thought he’d shoot you on the spot. It was pretty much useless, trying to calm him down. You could push him as much as you wanted, but he was huge compared to you. Towards the end scolded him more than once, but his only answer were muffled grunts. 

You tied the knot after what seemed an eternity, brutal and agonising, but at least the worst was done. Sixteen stitches, the most you’d ever sew. Your personal record was ten.

You observed your work, the perfectly lined up stitches, black and harsh against his golden skin, soft and brawny at the same time.

Biting your lips, uncertain about what you were doing, you lifted you hand in the dim light of the room, allowing yourself to hesitate a bit.

You placed your hand on his wound, as if you could heal him with your touch. The contact was so light you were barely touching his skin. As the tips of your fingers made contact with his warmth you felt a magnetic force attracting yourself to him, a connection you couldn’t ignore nor resist. You’d swear you could feel _something_ attracting you—

«Mando?» you called him quietly, as if he was asleep and you didn’t want to wake him up

He hummed. The sound that came from his helmet just sounded intoxicating. Thank Gods you were on the floor; otherwise you weren’t sure your knees could’ve handled it.

His breath was almost steady again. The wound stopped bleeding. But he possibly looked more vulnerable than before.

Your eyes glared at his body for a long minute. The tiny room was almost dark now, but you could see his skin glimmering with sweat and trembling in the soft light. You hesitated, biting down your lip– _What_ _am I doing, what–_

You hand moved up, tracing the side of his flexed abs, up up up until your fingers were running under the heavy cloth of his suit, feeling new hair on his pecs, uncapable to stop. You were leaning forward without realising it, your face right next to his body, and you could feel his body heat on your face from there.

«How do you feel?» you asked again, voice so low he probably didn’t hear you, a new note in your words— soft, delicate, worried.

Your hand slowly made way back to his stomach, caressing him slowly, and his breath increased its speed as you moved it. You let your thumb brush against the soft brown hair of his low stomach, realising in that precise moment that it was his color, making it easier to imagine him in your mind. You couldn’t help but picture him in your head, fully sculpted and strapping, all but his face.

He was responding to your touch– _he really was_. He was real and he was there. Calm yet strong, one moment breathing steadily, the other on the edge of a cliff. The tips of your fingers were dangerously pointed towards the hem of his pants: as if you couldn’t control them, they were drawn towards there, guided by the deep ‘v’ sculpted on his lower abdomen, like a direction that begged to be followed.

And he wasn’t doing anything about it. On the contrary, he was plainly restless, troubled. No words came from him: the only response you were getting was physical, rather than verbal. Fast breath, tremors, a body temperature so high it seemed fever.

You let your thumb brush again on his skin, wasting time on his waistband, shamelessly focused on his hair. It wasn’t a casual movement anymore— it was _feral_ , not fully deliberate, coming from your deeper self, as if the masculinity he was emanating was a nature call you couldn’t resist.

It was so weird, finding yourself in this limbo, trapped between fear and arousal. You were scared to hurt him, to be hurt like you had been before, but your body told you something different. Unintentionally you found yourself leaning on him; your fingers expressed a desire you couldn’t put into words.

No, it was not only physical; it was almost religious. You always thought of Mandalorians— of _him_ as a godly being, and now it was almost sacrilegious to touch him like that. He always seemed so invulnerable and impenetrable that now you felt guilty for letting him be hurt like that. Days and days of him in his full armor and now his chest wasn’t only within your reach, but directly under the tips of your fingers.

You watched his navel slowly rising, half hidden by his hair, and something inside yourself wanted to trace the shapes of his abs with your tongue and taste his body in your mouth, _right there_ , _right now_.

And when your hand moved further on, at last under the waistline of his pants, when you could _finally_ feel your fingers running through the thick hair of his groin- he moaned, _fucking moaned_ behind his modulator, a low and deep sound that made you squirm in your place.

You felt your unshamed mouth water at the thought, your greedy eyes trying to look at the protuberance in his pants-

He _did_ , he gave you what you were aching for, what maybe he was craving too. And as you moved he met your hand with his crotch, pushing against you, desiring you, hips moving on the bed, and you swore you felt the tip of his—

— and then he hissed from pain, a dreadful, abrupt pang of agony from his wound. The sound he made seemed louder than ever, an alarm for both of you: a bolt from the blue. Everything was gone: the thrill, the animal desire that clouded both of your minds.

What _were_ you doing?

«You— you n-need the stim shot» you stammered, violently ashamed of yourself, as if he just woke you up from your dream, clearing the air, reminding you of your place. Your hand was on your side, as it should’ve always been. Your eyes on the medpac. _Your mind, though_ —

«I need to sleep» he mumbled softly, lightly tilting his helmet to your side. His hand wandered in the air for a split second, as if he was trying to grab something. There was something apologetic in his voice. Or maybe you just heard him wrong, since your heart was beating so fast you couldn’t hear clearly.

«You won’t feel a thing» you gently promised him, as you pulled up the syringe, careful not to hurt him—or to touch him. You were lightly shaking,

You struck the needle in his chest holding your breath, and you listened to his breath until it became regular again. When his fists unclenched you were sure he was sound asleep.

That, right there was your opportunity: running away was just one step away. All you had to do was turning around and run. You could’ve taken his rifle, his guns. Even his armor to pay for everything. Beskar was so valuable you could’ve bought an entire ship. You could’ve escaped.

But where? How could you leave him after everything you’ve been through? He was still wounded, his ship was a wreck, he couldn’t walk, nor run. How could you?

As if he was listening to your thoughts, a muffled cry came from the closed cradle.

 _The child_.

You ran to him, struggling to open the globe with your hands. He was crying, the poor thing, so loud you were afraid he’d wake up Mando. He seemed worried, like he knew what happened to Mando.

You picked him up, desperately trying to calm him down, cuddling the tiny thing, but he reached for him, for his… _father_ , and as soon as you placed him onto the cot he stopped sobbing. He made a couple of sad coos, but didn’t abandon his side. He looked at you, then at him, and again at you, trying to figure out what was happening.

«I fixed him» you explained to the baby, reaching for his little head, padding on those greenish wrinkles a couple of times, when in actuality you were the one that needed comfort.

Still shaking, scared as hell, completely alone. You never felt that— _concern_ , you’d call it. You never were worried for yourself or others and in that moment, suddenly, you were for two.

The child whimpered a bit, then just sat there, ears up, curiously staring at you. His black eyes were full of questions and wonder, as if he were asking you: “Well, what now?”.

«I don’t know» you whispered under your breath, looking once again at Mando sleeping quietly.

What did _he_ do when you were in his place?

He looked after you. He medicated you, he cleaned you up, he… He did anything he could. And you were about to do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this beesh has a blood kink sorry not sorry


End file.
